Of Dreams and Angels
by IndigoSnake16
Summary: Kratos has resigned himself to his fate on Derris-Kharlan; a difficult task at best. To make things worse, he finds himself dreaming about a certain blue-haired duke-a man who he can barely remember. Back in Aselia, Regal has resigned himself to his life as a businessman until he begins to dream of the red haired swordsman. RxR/KxOC
1. On Derris-Kharlan

Chapter 1: On Derris-Kharlan

The sky was constantly dark and dotted with unfamiliar stars. Even knowing that he was, in fact, traveling on a comet, it was difficult to grasp the concept. The only habitable places were the gigantic structures erected that served as both a city and residential area. The denizens were as lackluster as ever—he had realized it before, but now it became far more apparent after spending time on Earth. He wondered how he had tolerated it before. But then, he had been a different person.

They all served Mithos, the boy who never grew into a man. Even without his presence, they continued their daily lives as if he were there. No one had bothered to tell them. They were all angels and they all brandished their Cruxis Crystals—Kratos had his work cut out for him.

Kratos decided to make Mithos' castle his home on Derris-Kharlan. The castle was far too large and grand for one person. There were rooms upon rooms which had not been used in centuries; useless bedrooms, dens, kitchens, and bathrooms that were there purely for aesthetic reasons. The entire building could have easily housed several Sylvaranti towns, he thought to himself.

He knew what his first order of business would be as he climbed the multitude of spiraling stairs past far too many rooms. There was a larger room somewhere midway to the very top of the castle, he was sure he wouldn't miss it. Even before he reached it, however, a frantic angel came floating carelessly down the narrow stairway towards him. Kratos vaguely recognized him. His name was on the tip of his tongue. He might just be the one who he was looking for.

"Sir, am I glad to find you," said the half-elven angel when he was close enough. He wore a relieved expression on his face.

"You're the Housekeeper?" Kratos asked the familiar looking man.

The man still levitated a few inches above the ground. His wings were a pure white and could potentially stretch the width of the narrow stairway. He wore a navy blue vest decorated with intricate golden lines and beneath was a white long sleeved dress shirt with rounded bishop sleeves along with an appropriate pair of dress pants. His bright scarlet pupils were his most striking physical trait and were probably what Kratos remembered the most about him. He kept his lavender blue hair slicked back and tied into a tight ponytail starting at the nape and ending midway down his back

"Yes, sir," he said with a nod.

"Is there some issue?" Kratos asked noticing his panicked air from before.

"Well, sir, you see, I report directly Lord Yggdrasill and he has been missing for some time now. He usually gives me warning before doing such things. Being a close friend of his, I'm sure _you_ know where he is."

Kratos looked at the other thoughtfully. "Do you have someplace private where we can speak?"

"Yes, sir, of course," the housekeeper said immediately, "Follow me."

The housekeeper made his way past Kratos and continued back down the stairs where Kratos had come from. With a sigh, the swordsman followed the other into the very next room they came upon. It was a den with book-filled shelves lining the walls. Kratos didn't have the presence of mind to offer the other a seat so they both stood even as there were couches to sit on.

"Something terrible has happened, hasn't it?" the housekeeper asked the other anxiously.

"Perceptive for a Cruxis angel," Kratos said back.

The other finally ceased his levitation and allowed himself to stand. "You flatter me, sir. It was merely a logical guess."

"Hm," Kratos said closing his eyes. "Yggdrasill Mithos will no longer be returning here. He passed away a few weeks ago."

His eyes grew wide with surprise. "Truly, sir? How could someone so powerful, die?"

"The details are irrelevant," Kratos answered.

"Well," the housekeeper began clasping his hands behind his back, "Then you must be here to take his place."

"How long have you worked for Mithos?"

"Three-thousand seven-hundred and sixty-five days to be exact."

"That is quite a long time. Yet your response to his death seems…muted."

"I don't know him very well if that's what you mean. I simply was in charge of keeping the castle in order. Our relationship was strictly business. If one of the Four Seraphims tells me that he is dead, then it is the truth and there is nothing more I can do. With this news, however, I am made even further glad that you are here."

"Then will you now take orders from me?"

"Yes, of course, sir."

"Will you pledge your loyalty to me?"

He nodded once again and then bent down upon one knee. "I, Raphael Tenion, pledge my allegiance to you and only you."

Kratos had to stop himself from grinning. That was almost too easy. At the very least, he had someone on his side, someone who knew the layout of the entire castle. He wouldn't be forced to traverse about the entire place trying to figure out who worked there.

"Good, Raphael, you may stand up."

The housekeeper did so obediently.

"Now, are there others who work here besides your subordinates?"

"Well, sir, there is General Jasper who is in charge of all the guards around here. Recently, he's had to increase their presence."

"Bring this General to Mithos' room as soon as you can. We shall all have a meeting."

"Yes, sir," Raphael responded.

Kratos watched the other leave the room in hurried earnestness. He must have sensed the urgency of the situation even if Kratos hadn't told him as much. An attentive housekeeper meant less work for him so he simply counted his blessings. He waited a moment before leaving the room himself. He wasn't completely certain he knew where Mithos' room was, but he at least knew the general area. It had to be on the top floor. With another sigh, he started to jog up the seemingly endless spiral stairs.

As soon as he stepped through the door to the top-most hallway, he ran into a guard. He was fully outfitted in standard angelic armor. The sturdy looking white-haired man at first came towards him levitating through the air like everyone else, but soon stopped when he recognized who he was and simply went back to his patrol. Kratos thought about speaking with the guard only to decide against it; it was unnecessary. He and the rest of the angels who worked in the castle would soon know of his intentions.

Embarrassingly enough, he was forced to look into one room after the other in order to determine which one was Mithos'. He rightly assumed the one that looked the most lived in was his. Mithos would not have used the room to rest in as angels did not sleep, but perhaps he had desired some private place for himself.

The bed was neatly made. A black cotton top sheet decorated in strange curvy white lines could be seen atop layers of other soft, smooth sheets he assumed. Untouched, puffy looking pillows sat at the head of the bed positioned in a diagonal pattern—they were decorated with three stripes of alternating black and white. The black bed skirt hanging on the bottom hid the box spring beneath. A simple dresser sat beside the tall bed and on it an oval lamp. Kratos found that he could not stare at the lamp for too long—it was so bright that it lit the entire room sufficiently. The walls were painted a light purple. An elaborate vanity table sat against the wall in front of the bed and on it sat a bowl of shiny green rocks, a brush and a comb was placed together a little ways from it. Beside that were other hair paraphernalia all placed neatly in a lime green cube organizer. A dark wooden wardrobe sat in the corner with glass knobs. Kratos dared not look inside. Mithos' sense of fashion had always differed from his.

Out of curiosity, he began to look through the drawers in the dresser that was beside the bed. There were odds and ends things like small bouncy balls, fingernail clippers, hairpins, and more shiny rocks. Uninterested, he simply closed it and moved on to the next one which contained underwear. Immediately closing this one, he checked the last one and the only thing it contained was a bag, a folded, royal purple bag with red drawstrings. This, Kratos took out.

"Well, could be useful," Kratos said to himself.

Unfolding the soft bag, he realized that it was quite large. He wondered why Mithos would have such a random thing in a drawer, but it didn't matter. Kratos pulled open the top and found the sack completely empty. It was then that there was a soft knock on the door. Assuming it was Raphael, Kratos called for the other to come in. The door opened and along with Raphael was who Kratos assumed was General Jasper entered.

The general had very prominent, sharp ears, but it suited his angular face. His eyes were a deep, dark red akin to the color of blood and his features were so sharp that one might cut themselves on it. His hair was mostly violet though with strands of gray on his sides. He wore his hair in a ponytail as well, but it sat higher than Raphael's and it was tied with braided strands of his own hair and hung just above his nape. His wings were a translucent fuchsia color and it seemed he did not make it a habit to levitate everywhere he went.

"General Jasper?" Kratos asked.

The man nodded affirmatively. "I am him."

His voice wasn't nearly as pleasant as Raphael's, but then that was expected from someone who was in charge of the guards. He didn't appear annoyed, however, his voice seemed to naturally have a certain kind of roughness to it—a bit like his own. His arms were crossed and he wore a rapier at his side.

"Has Raphael told you of Mithos' demise?"

"No, sir," Jasper replied.

"Well, then it is best you are told. Mithos has passed away."

"I see," Jasper said loosening his stance if only a little. "And you're going to take his place."

"I suppose I am, but first I need you to pledge your allegiance to me."

Jasper looked at the other for a moment longer than usual, but then bent down on one knee. "I, Jasper Bloodstone, pledge my allegiance to you and only you."

"Good, Jasper, you may stand up."

Kratos watched the other carefully, but he seemed not to harbor any grievances towards him. Now he looked at both of them directly. Now was the moment of truth if in fact they were loyal to him.

"My first order of business is to remove all traces of Cruxis Crystals from the entirety of Derris-Kharlan." Neither Raphael nor Jasper reacted to this statement—it was as if they didn't quite understand. "And I shall start with you two. Remove your crystals and place them into this bag." He held it open now in front of them.

At first they did not respond at all and Kratos feared he would have to repeat himself. An excruciating second passed and Jasper held out his hand and plucked it easily from the back of it. Silently, he walked forth and placed it into the bag. The first sign of protest came from Raphael who realized after Jasper had done so that Kratos was being serious and that he had heard it right the first time.

"But, sir—

Jasper cut across Raphael's protest, "We do not question our lord's commands."

"Yes, I know," Raphael said immediately defeated. He wanted to say something more, but Jasper had turned to him and his gaze seemed to scare him into submission.

Raphael finally copied Jasper's motions and placed the shiny round object into the large, purple felt bag. When he was done, Kratos did the same. Then he closed the bag tightly. There was hardly any weight to it, but soon it would grow heavy with all the crystals of the angels. This was just the beginning.

Kratos looked at the two before him evenly. Raphael looked almost distraught, Jasper remained neutral. "Do you understand the ramifications of removing your crystal? You will begin to age normally, you will grow weaker, and you will require sustenance like a normal breathing living thing."

"With all due respect, Kratos—" began Jasper, but he was interrupted by Raphael.

"That's _Lord_ Kratos," he reminded the other.

Jasper sucked his teeth. "With all due respect, Lord Kratos, I am more concerned about you. You are human, are you not? A human lives precious few years."

"You need not worry about me," Kratos said. "What I plan to do won't take long and when I am done, I think I can die in peace."

"I see. Then I will tell my men to relinquish their crystals as well."

"Good," said Kratos, "And do you foresee any trouble doing this?"

Jasper only grinned. "They're all quite dull, the lot of them. I'll tell them some story that will require them to remove their crystals so as not to raise suspicion. It won't be difficult."

"And you, Raphael?"

The housekeeper didn't look half as confident. "I'll…try my best, my lord."

"Kratos," Jasper began.

"That's _Lord_ —

Kratos sighed exasperatedly, "Kratos is fine," he said immediately before Raphael could finish.

"This land is full of angels with dulled senses from years and years of doing the same mundane activities. From those people, it would be easy to relieve them of their crystals, but there are others like us who have retained some level of guile and of those people there will be those who side with Mithos' ideals. They will be the ones who will cause you the most the trouble. Immortality is not a thing someone would want to give up willingly."

"And yet the both of you did so with relative ease," Kratos reminded the other.

"Ah, yes," Jasper said, "Let us hope there are others who do not wish to live forever."

"Jasper," Raphael exclaimed in a shocked manner, "How can you say such things so easily?"

"Because Mithos is dead," Jasper said turning, "And I no longer have to look forward to guarding this useless castle for all eternity. May I excuse myself, Kratos?"

"Yes," Kratos said simply, impressed by the man's honesty. "Both of you report back to me by the end of this week. I expect to hear good things."

"Y-yes, sir," Raphael said. Raphael soon followed Jasper out of the room, but he turned back to look at Kratos before he closed the door. "Will you be taking this room as your own?"

"Actually, I would like a different room," Kratos replied with a slight frown.

"Then follow me. I'll set you up elsewhere."

There was a room beside that of Mithos' and Raphael quickly had chamber maids dress up the bed and puff up the pillows. It took all of ten minutes to do and Raphael quickly and quietly left Kratos to himself. Raphael was efficient if anything else, Kratos thought to himself as he entered the room. He should have asked the man where the bathrooms were, but he was sure he would find one eventually if he went exploring for a little while. Surely there would be a bathroom on each floor. Then again, the castle wasn't exactly made to be practical. Most things here were for show and had not actually been used. Surely Mithos would have found the merits of a nice, hot shower angel or not.

Kratos hadn't slept in a proper bed for a long while, in fact, he hadn't slept at all. For the last few months he'd been journeying with his son to right his mistakes of the past and then later scheming behind Mithos' back that would end in his death. He thought he'd feel far more despondent over his friend's death, but it had been long overdue. So had his. If anything, he hadn't been upset over his death—he'd been more upset over the fact that now it could never be as it was. They'd set out on a journey so many years ago—Mithos' death starkly reminded him that those days were done.

He had made taking off his crystal seem like a simple thing, but Kratos immediately felt the difference as soon as its presence was gone. Had he been a weaker man, he might have stumbled back in surprise. The world around him became dimmer. He could not see, feel, or hear as well as before. His strength felt laughable. But more than that, he had felt tired—immensely tired as if he'd been awake for too long. He hoped he had successfully hidden these discomforts from the other two—he knew such effects would not have been as extensive on the half-elves. He bet they would fare far better than he.

He was glad when he finally came upon a bathroom on the same floor. Immediately, he checked for running water. To his fascination, the faucet worked just fine. He didn't claim to understand how such a thing could be possible on a comet, but he did not feel like figuring anything out. There were towels, wash cloths, and bathrobes all waiting to finally be used and Kratos did not keep them waiting.

Taking a hot shower still felt just as good even as a normal human. He closed his eyes in a moment of pure bliss as the hot, tingling water fell against his naked, exposed skin. He let out a relaxed sigh.

Eventually, he stepped out of the shower having cleaned himself thoroughly and trudged down the large, empty hallway with only a bathrobe on. For now, it was the only thing left to wear. He became mildly confused as to where his room was again, but eventually found it.

The room was brightly lit and he realized that a lamp similar to the one in Mithos' room sat on the dresser beside the bed. He wondered how he would ever turn it off. He looked for a switch but found none nor was it plugged into the wall or worked with an exsphere attached. Tiring of searching, Kratos finally climbed on top of the tall very comfortable bed where he took one pillow and laid only on that one. Despite the brightness of the room, his vision slowly became blurred as his eyes closed all on their own. He was sure he would fall asleep any moment now, but suddenly the door to his room opened. He had no time to even tell the intruder to go away before four female angels pranced into his room all holding violins. Kratos, for a long moment, was utterly confused as he began to sit up once again with more than a little struggle—he was surprised at just how tired his body felt.

"Oh, we're sorry," one of the brunette angels said, "We would have come sooner had we known you'd be resting so soon."

"What do you mean?" Kratos asked groggily. He probably should have simply asked them to leave, but for some reason his curiosity won out. Why would Mithos keep a group of violinists around and why had they entered so unannounced?

"Mithos always has us play for him at a certain time."

"Yes…" Kratos said wearily, "But why?"

This time a different angel answered him, "He says it relaxes him so that he can rest."

"Angels have no need for rest," Kratos replied.

"But he likes it anyway," she said back.

The third angel nodded, "Mithos would pretend as if he was resting. He was always so—

Another angel shushed her. "We mustn't speak ill of the dead!"

And then they started bickering among themselves. Losing their attention altogether, their voices simply became background noise as Kratos began to drift off once again. He was jolted back to wakefulness with a shout, however, much to his annoyance. The one who had first spoken had called his name out loudly.

"Regardless, we still want to play for you even if you aren't Mithos."

"No, that's alright," Kratos began.

"No, we insist," she said again with more strength. "Once you hear it, I'm sure you'll love it."

"And not kick us out," the fourth brunette said in a smaller voice, but Kratos still heard.

"Fine," Kratos said giving in to the pushy violinists, "Let's hear it."

The first woman who Kratos supposed was the leader looked to the other three and nodded to them and they started instantly without further ado. The rhythm was slow but melodious. The tone was hard to pinpoint—it wasn't happy, but it wasn't depressing either. It was somewhere in between as if a story was being told in the most neutral way possible. Perhaps the story was tragic, but the narrator was desperately trying to get through it without losing themselves. At first he could hear each violin individually but as his mind became less sharp with tiredness, they all blurred together. Kratos eventually lied down again and fell asleep almost instantly, but the gentle strings still filled his mind. They became distorted and echoic. The strange sounds began to make little sense yet they colored his dreams.

The strange, calming strings slowly became the sound of clinking metal chains dragging along a concrete ground. A smaller sound in the distance was the incessant coughing of some unfortunate man. Finally, there was no sound at all. It all fell into silence.


	2. In Prison

Chapter 2: In Prison

Kratos woke in a jarring shock that sent his heart racing for an inordinate amount of time. He wasn't sure just what had caused him to do such a thing; he couldn't remember having any sort of nightmare. As his dull senses began to sharpen, he realized that something was wrong—everything was wrong. The smell of dried piss, warm vomit, and rotting food hit his nostrils like a wall slamming into his face. He gagged involuntarily. He thought his eyesight was going, but instead the world around him was filled with a muted gray color.

He wasn't in the same bed. His thin, gray, rough covers smelled of rotten eggs. He pushed it away from him quickly. His eyes travelled upward and he realized he was on a bunk bed as his eyes took in the strained springs that supported the bed above. One of the springs had already come out—Kratos wasn't exactly comfortable lying beneath such precarious support. Where the hell was he?

The distinct sound of vomiting emitted from the person who he assumed was a man above him. Kratos had to stop himself from doing the same thing. He climbed out of bed to behold the gray stone walls that surrounded the relatively small room. The only door was made out of gray metal and instead of a window, the opening was filled with heavy, dark gray bars. There was a window as well, but that too was barred. Was he in some sort of prison cell? If so, what had he done wrong? He backed up a little so that he could make out the other man on the top bunk. All he could see was long, dingy white hair covering the face of the man as he continued to barf on his bedding. Kratos had to look away after a while. Instead, he walked to the small window and peered out of it. He was surprised to see a rocky shore that led to a wide expansive sea—they had quite a view for a prison cell.

Derris-Kharlan did not have bodies of water; Kratos knew that this could not even exist on a comet. There was really only one explanation he could think of—he was dreaming. He pinched himself on the arm and he felt the inevitable sting of pain. A very realistic, hard to explain away sort of dream, Kratos supposed drearily. He hadn't the slightest clue. He hated being so clueless.

The man had ceased his regurgitating. With this, Kratos turned to him expecting to see some old, sickly man, but he was surprised yet again. The man ran a large hand through his long, dirtied hair to push it out of his face to reveal youthful features. His sharp, elven ears were quite pronounced. His skin was just as gray as the walls around them, but Kratos suspected that that was his natural coloring. His face was riddled with three scars. One that went across his lips, one that ran down his right temple, and one that started at the bottom of his left eye and across his jawbone. His eyes had no whites in them—it made him look quite demonic. His pupils and sclera were both the same color, a golden yellow and they shimmered brightly even in the dim morning light. He was quite a large man, thickly muscled and taller than the bed bunk. The man was easily one of the most intimidating elves he'd laid eyes on. The man smiled, but it seemed sinister. It took Kratos a moment to realize that he wore heavy shackles on both his wrists attached together.

"Beautiful day today, isn't it?" the man said pleasantly.

Kratos glanced through the bars and did notice clear skies and a rising sun. "Indeed it is."

The man's smile widened. "So the quiet duke speaks."

Kratos was silently confused by this statement, but the other continued.

"Apologies for waking you like that with all my, well, you know. It's just I can't seem to stomach any of the slop they feed us—you're lucky, your stomach isn't as delicate as mine."

"I see," Kratos replied feeling a little sorry for the other. "This may sound like an odd question, but where exactly are we?"

The gray elf laughed—it was surprisingly hearty. "Well, duke, we're in prison. Mary E. Curtiss Correctional Facility, the most notorious Tethe'allan prison."

"Correctional Facility,"Kratos said to himself, "Why am I here?" he asked.

"Only you know that," he answered. "I'm just glad you're talking. You came in here like a zombie and you wouldn't say a word to anyone."

None of this was making any sense, but he took note of what the man was saying. "And what is your name," Kratos asked.

"Esgal," the man said proudly, "Esgal Bloodstone."

It was as if a siren went off in his mind when he heard the surname.

"You look like you just discovered the first light bulb," said Esgal with a grin.

Kratos shook his head. "You wouldn't happen to have a cousin or a brother of any kind, would you?"

"Don't we all?" he replied, "Well, on second thought, maybe not. Yes, I have both of them. A mother and a father as well," he said in a joking tone.

"Does the name Jasper Bloodstone ring a bell?"

The look of merriment left the Esgal's eyes quickly as he looked at the other steadily. "I don't know how you know that name, but he is dead to me. That bastard…left me to rot in this prison."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Kratos said slowly.

He had no idea what to make of the information. They could be talking about the same Jasper or they might not be. It was too soon to jump to any conclusions. It may even be a coincidence that both happened to be of elven descent. They did not seem to share any recognizable traits. One looked vastly different from the other.

Esgal was smiling once again, "A duke apologizing to a half-elf. Well, there's a first time for everything, isn't there?"

"Why do you keep calling me that?" Kratos asked. "I'm Kratos." Of all the titles he had held over the years—Duke had not been one of them

"Well, if you say so," Esgal said with a grin.

Kratos didn't like how the man was grinning at him as if he was missing something vital, as if he was being foolish—it was the kind of look he hadn't seen in a long time. He looked down at himself to make sure he was who he said he was; the very fact that he had to do such a thing was a bit troubling. When he confirmed this, he looked at Esgal anew. Not before his mood began to change drastically. Kratos prided himself on being clearheaded, able to look at situations objectively, but at that very moment his feelings began to change and he realized after a moment that he had no control over it. Even though it was bright outside, a dark cloud had entered. His thoughts changed from curious wonderment to complete and utter self-degradation.

There was a feeling of inescapable depression and he did not know the source. It was debilitating as he found he could no longer stand on his own two feet. His back sliding down the wall, he decided that he would sit. Auburn hair that already concealed one eye now obscured his face as he bent over, his knees already pulled closer to his chest. He wanted to disappear—if only he could make himself small enough…

"Are you alright?" Kratos heard the other ask—he'd forgotten he was still there and his voice sounded uncomfortably concerned.

He didn't want the half-elf to come over; he left Esgal's question unanswered, but he heard Esgal's approach. The room was so small that it only took him two steps to cross the room and he could _smell_ him far too close to him—his stench was near unbearable.

"What's wrong?" Esgal asked this time in gentler tones.

But Kratos continued to ignore him even as he sat down beside him.

"I don't bite, you know."

Finally, Kratos forced himself to look towards the dangerous-looking half-elf. It was as if he was fighting against someone else's emotions, someone else's will. "Leave me be." Only one eye could see him clearly.

"Do you really want that?" Esgal asked as if he were a parent speaking to a child. It only made Kratos feel that much worse.

His stench was overpowering all of his senses. "Don't make me say it again," Kratos warned the other.

Esgal held up his hands in a truce, "Alright, alright."

He wasn't certain why it was he felt this way, but these emotions were real, wild and uncontrolled akin to being caught in a sudden torrent of rain without even a jacket to keep shelter. He was fully exposed to the onslaught—the more he attempted to understand, to cope, the less control he had. He felt helpless and that was scariest feeling of all. What if he continued to sink down? What if he could never find his way back to the surface? His hand slid up to his forehead, clumps of auburn showing betwixt his fingers.

He'd felt something like this before. In fact, he was sure of it. The day of Anna's death. But these feelings felt foreign nonetheless—they were not his, they were someone else's and he was privy to it. The pain was too intense, too immobilizing, and too passionate. He would never allow his own emotions to bring him down to this point. He could not even function, he could not think. His head began to throb.

What if he could not escape? What if, for some strange reason, this was reality?

"No…" he said to himself in low tones, "This cannot be real…" Maybe _this_ was his true punishment. He shook his head slowly.

"What did you say?" Esgal asked curiously.

"This _cannot_ be real!" he repeated with more vigor.

"Woah, woah, duke. This is as real as real can get. You're here in this prison."

Kratos found that he could stand up again now that his deep despondency had turned to a bright anger. His palms were flat to the wall as he supported himself once again. "Why do you keep calling me that? I'm Kratos Aurion!"

"Get ahold of yourself, friend—you're one of the dukes of Tethe'alla; Duke Regal Bryant."

That took the wind completely out of his sails. His eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "What did you call me?" he asked sharply. His head was spinning now. Nothing made sense anymore and he closed his eyes in distress. "Duke…Regal Bryant?" he said softly.

/

When he opened his eyes again he was staring up at a midnight blue ceiling textured in a swirling design. He was in his own brightly lit room. He felt so disoriented that he allowed himself to stay completely still a little while longer as he collected his scattering thoughts. It was all simply some bizarre dream, he thought to himself. Perhaps his dreams felt more poignant since he had been deprived of them for such a long time, he rationalized. But why then, had its subject revolved around the so-called Regal Bryant—a name he knew only in passing due to his association to his son. A man his mind had never dwelt upon until now. Even now, he could hardly recall his appearance.

"Lord Kratos, I see you're awake," the voice of Raphael said intruding on his personal thoughts.

Kratos was a little surprised as he hadn't even sensed him nearby, but he did not allow this fact to color his expression as he turned his eyes to the dainty looking half-elf.

"I was worried about you," Raphael continued. There was clear concern on his face. "It's been quite a few days—I bet you're ravished, sir."

The confusion, he allowed to show on his face as he sat up. "How many days exactly?"

"Well, three to be exact. You were completely dead to the world—I had to check your pulse to see if you were even…, well, that's in the past now," Raphael said with a brief smile. There was more relief there than Kratos had been prepared for. "If you don't mind me asking, sir," Raphael said with a tone suggesting uncertainty, "Who is…Regal Bryant?"

"What?" Kratos asked caught off guard.

"Oh, nevermind, I did not mean to distress you—

"How did you hear that name? Do you know him?" Kratos asked forgetting to hide his interest.

"No, it's just that you said that name as clear as day a few moments ago, but I suppose I shouldn't pry."

Kratos looked away from him then. "No, you shouldn't."

"Well, sir," Raphael began anew clearing his throat, "I've taken the liberty of having my maids clean your favorite outfit," he said with a grin. "And there's a nice, hot—well, now warm, dinner waiting for you in the dining hall. I realize it's pretty easy to lose yourself in this maze of a castle so I'll leave someone here to guide you there. I hope you'll join me and Jasper." There was clear contentment in his voice. "It has been quite exciting discovering our taste buds once again."

With this, Raphael took his leave and left Kratos once again to his own devices. The first thing Kratos did once his door was closed was look for his cleaned outfit. He'd arrived from the planet with his signature purple clothing and he would wear this today. Since there was no one looking, he let himself press the clean clothing to his nose so that he could remind himself of what cleanliness smelt like. The grit of the prison had left a sour taste in his mouth and a terrible musty smell in his nose. How could a simple dream be so vivid? How could a dream touch all of his senses so intimately?

He pushed these thoughts far in the back of his mind as exited his room and was greeted by a minuscule green-haired lady with large, bright white wings. She hovered above the ground as was the habit with most others. She smiled joyously and attempted to engage him in idle conversation, but Kratos' short answers made such endeavors impossible. Kratos did not feel like chatting at the moment. There were far too many other things on his mind—his plan of ridding this castle of all Cruxis Crystals being one. He hoped he could count on Raphael and Jasper. He would need allies to proceed with his plans anyway.

Kratos followed the green-haired angel silently. He learned her name to be Rebekah Sila, but he doubt it was important information. There were so many angelic maids about the place that learning all their names was a task in itself. It was amazing enough that Raphael had managed, at least Kratos assumed that he did.

The dining room was predictably grand. The table that sat in the center of the gigantic room spanned at least half of the room. At the very end of the elongated mahogany table, he could make out two figures sitting across from each other. They were so far away at this point that Kratos could scarcely smell the food, but he did by the time he reached them. The very scent instantly reminded him that he had not eaten for days. He was "ravished" as Raphael had put it and it was a sensation he hadn't felt in a very long time; he wasn't sure if he missed it. He sat down at the head of the table after nodding to his two allies.

"Nice of you to join, Kratos," Jasper said.

"It's _Lord_ Kratos," Raphael began before he could stop himself. "Sorry," he said quickly after receiving exasperated glares from both Kratos and Jasper alike.

"My apologies for causing undue worry," Kratos said to both of them.

"It doesn't sound like it was something that could have been helped," Jasper said thoughtfully.

Kratos found himself studying Jasper's face more thoroughly than he had before. He remembered Esgal vividly; was anything of him in Jasper? The only things they had in common so far were their elven heritage and their tallness, but that seemed to be where it ended. Jasper's build was not nearly as thick, his muscles were leaner. Kratos looked away when he thought the other sensed him staring longer than usual.

Despite there only being enough food to cover less than a quarter of the table, there was more than enough for them, even the ravished Kratos who filled his plate with anything that caught his eye.

"I know I haven't been there to supervise, but how has the issue with the Cruxis Crystals been going?" Kratos asked them both.

It was Jasper who responded first. "I've taken the troublesome crystals from all members of my division and I took the liberty of placing them all into that special felt bag of yours. Then I gave it to Raphael."

Raphael looked towards Kratos now with a modicum of courage. "Well, they may not like me very much, but I've taken crystals from over half of my staff."

"And the rest?" Kratos asked steadily.

"I will take care of that tonight."

"Alright," Kratos said satisfied. "Remember, Raphael, you are not in this alone. If you need my help, then all you have to do is ask."

A surprised expression came to his face. "Oh, no, no, no," he said quickly in a high, cheery tone. "I would not dare bother you with such a small issue. You have nothing to fear, my lord. I will eradicate the presence of Cruxis Crystals from _all_ my staff."

"If you say so, Raphael, then I will trust you," Kratos said back reassuringly. He supposed this was a tactic borrowed from his son, but it seemed to have worked wonders on Zelos…

Raphael gave the other a bright smile and Kratos was satisfied. They spoke on other things that day like the state of Derris-Kharlan. How were the denizens? Did they still not even suspect Mithos' demise? Was the governing system set in place by Mithos still functioning without his presence? Was society in general well? How would they begin his mission?—through official channels or by force? Some questions had answers, but most times they ended in two to three different opinions of what the right answer should be.

They spent the longest on the last one. Jasper thought only force would achieve his goals quickly and efficiently. Raphael reasoned that most people were harmless and force was not required. Once Kratos established himself as the new Lord, then his rule would be law. It was a rather naïve way of looking at things, but not altogether impossible. He could claim Mithos' place officially, but would everyone immediately agree to follow him? Was it as Jasper had suggested?—some angels simply won't comply because of their stubbornness? Besides, Kratos reasoned with Raphael, he did not have a long life ahead of him. Taking on a leadership role would lead to turmoil later as there would be no one to replace him. The future of Derris-Kharlan's continued prosperity and stability seemed uncertain and sometimes downright bleak.

In a show of manners, none of them left the table before the other so that they could all leave at once. As they walked together out of the echoic dining hall, Kratos finally asked to have a word with Jasper in private. With a farewell to Raphael, Kratos could talk to Jasper individually. A man, Kratos realized, that he was coming to trust a little more each day.

"I have a question that may sound a bit odd to you," Kratos began neutrally.

Jasper was quickly intrigued by this development.

Kratos took a deep breath, "Do you know anyone by the name of Esgal Bloodstone?"

He could tell that he caught Jasper unawares with the questions and his eyes showed clear recognition. "I don't know how you know that name, but…" he turned away at this, "He was a dear friend of mine."

"Was he your brother?" Kratos pressed.

"Yes," he said quietly. "My brother who must surely hate me." Jasper finally turned back to him. "Have you heard something from him then? Perhaps he asked after me?"

Kratos shook his head when he heard uncharacteristic concern in his tone. "No…I don't believe I have." His voice faltered a bit.

Jasper stared at the other unbelievingly. "Then why even broach the topic?" he asked haughtily, "You must know _something_ of my big brother."

"I met him once," Kratos began, relenting a little. He hadn't planned on telling the other as much. "He was in prison—

"Of course he was, the gentle _fool_. I told him to stay out of trouble and he winds up in a place like that." Jasper sighed. Kratos had not known him long, but seeing him so caught up in his own emotion seemed like a rare event. "There was no place for him in the world. I told him that. You saw him so you must know of his…appearance. It always made things far more difficult for him yet he could never keep to himself—he always involved himself in other people's problems." Jasper's hands which remained at his side became fists. "Did he look well?" he asked after a moment, remembering that Kratos was, in fact, still there."

"He was…as fine as a half-elf could be in prison."

Jasper nodded slowly. "I see. Not that it matters. We're here and even if he were in trouble there would be nothing I could do. Better to not dwell on matters out of my hands."

He was returning to his normal, pragmatic self, Kratos noted. "Yes. Sorry I brought up such a topic, but it was bothering me ever since I learned your last name."

"Well, then," Jasper said with a ghost of a grin, "Small world. I heard you left a son behind, Kratos."

"Yes, but I said my good-byes and I know he would do fine without me."

"I suppose that's the best we could hope for. Well, Kratos, if you will excuse me, I have to make sure my men are acting accordingly. They are a bit like lost puppies without their crystals."

"Then I shall not keep you."

Kratos watched the other leave. It was only when he was out of sight that he began to think on the new information he had received. Esgal Bloodstone was a real person and he fit Jasper's description. He did, in fact, look strange for a half-elf. His appearance alone would give people the wrong impression of him. Jasper had called him a gentle fool, an apt description of the overly concerned half-elf who had went out of his way to try to understand him. By pure deduction, if Esgal Bloodstone, a man he had only seen in his dream he was certain, was real, then the dream itself had to be real. But that was impossible. It was still utterly impossible. The facts simply did not add up. He wanted to disprove the entire thing by telling himself that dreams were mere fantasy, but he could not in good faith deny the contrary. And if it was the case that his dreams were indeed real, why was that the case? And why had that man insisted that he was someone other than himself? For good measure, he looked down at himself again. His auburn hair as usual wreaked havoc on his peripherals.

He was still a bit rested from before and in some ways he dreaded the thought of experiencing such a thing for another time. With this, he decided to explore the castle further. It would serve him well to have a general layout of his own domain.


	3. In Altamira

Chapter 3: In Altamira

Regal awoke to a splitting headache, one that reached a threshold of pain that even he had trouble coping with. It was as if a knife was viciously lacerating his brain into a pile of squishy mess. He was already sitting up in a bed he determined was unfamiliar as he held his head gingerly with one of his hands. He attempted to open his now clenched shut eyes, but quickly regretted it as dazzling light stabbed into them.

"Are you alright, sir?" asked what Regal noted was George's concerned voice.

"George…would you please shut off the lights," Regal said hoarsely.

He waited for a moment, but eventually the warmth of the bright lights faded and he tried again to peer through his eyelids. He heard as the blinds to a nearby window was hastily rolled down and the blinds closed. For a moment, his vision swam with undecipherable images. He panicked if only for a second, but he knew he had to regain some semblance of focus. Perhaps recounting his last known whereabouts might help. Even as his head pounded incessantly, it was not as intense as before.

He'd been in his office in Lezarano Headquarters steeped in reading proposal after proposal, the intricacies of a new budget plan that had been in the works for some months now and the proper reallocation of funds. The company was not the same one he left a year ago. Ever since his decision to take a more direct involvement in the restoration of Sylvarant, so many facets of the business required change, new positions to fill, more projects to be headed, and more funding in general whether it be from his affiliates or new business partners. He thought, by now, he had met and shook hands with almost every well-known businessman even the ones that were just budding. Being the President, he was not bogged down with the minutia of the details, but he was the one who had the final say in what was to ultimately be done which meant that he had to at least _know_ all the details of the business and that required reading—hours upon hours of reading drab sounding reports. He was grateful for the shorter ones written by people who simply wanted to get right to the point, unfortunately, many felt the need to "fluff up" their reports, to make their department sound more important than it really was. This too Regal had to shuffle through and determine for himself the proper, sensible way to go about things.

Meeting new potential business partners was the highlight of his days, but they were far and few in between. After the initial meeting, there was hardly any need for him to appear physically when he had so many other perfectly qualified people to follow-up on their continued support. He had to make sure he exuded an air of trust among his employees. Unfortunately, that meant that he had to take a backseat to the more "fun" aspects of the business. Instead of traveling constantly to "check-up" on how the new projects were faring, he did so far less then he wanted—one to two times a month as opposed to weekly.

Reading proposals that only he could approve was something he could always do and what everyone expected him to do. And with the approval or even interest in a particular proposal, he would then have meetings with the ones who had suggested it in the first place—and there would be plenty of meetings and he had to be attentive in each one, write down details, remember names so as not to seem rude if he had to talk to that person again.

His last memories were that of the before-mentioned office and he was reading quite a detailed proposal about a possible addition to the amusement park. The topic itself was interesting, but whoever wrote it laid on the details thickly and the proposal suffered from irrelevancy and tangents—it did little to draw his attention. He remembered not sleeping well for the past few nights, in fact, not sleeping at all—his mind was so focused on work that he could not relax sufficiently. Then George, being the observing, nagging person that he was suggested that he took some time for himself. Perhaps "suggesting" was too kind a word for George. He would bring it up every time he spoke with him—somehow the topic of conversation would cleverly turn to how he was doing personally and George could not resist voicing his concerns. Regal would shut him down every time: the time wasn't right, he'd been away for too long as it was, what exactly would he be doing besides this? If he was not doing his job, then Regal struggled to determine the real purpose of his life. It was defined by how well the company was doing.

And yet he knew George was right. He did not want his own presence to become a hindrance to the company. Already he would have trouble focusing on the task at hand especially at that moment. He'd re-read the long, run-on overly saturated sentence four times now and it had made little sense to him. Though sleep had been fleeting in the days past, now it seemed to be creeping up on him, but he fought against it. There was nothing to distract him but the annoying proposal before him which he continued to force himself to trudge through. The words began to swirl onto themselves and dance across the page tauntingly. The periods disappeared altogether and then the words no longer appeared as if they were written in a language he understood. Eventually giving in, he convinced himself that he would just take a short nap so that his focus would return and he laid his head on the hardwood table, instantly he was thoroughly asleep. No amount of coaxing would wake him.

That was where his memories ended; the "dream" he had was a different story altogether. His headache had begun to subside a little more and the spinning world began to settle into one stable room. He looked down at his clothes—he had not been wearing these before, but they quickly told Regal that he was, in fact, in a hospital of some kind. Underneath the standard hospital garb, however, were the clothes he had worn under his suit jacket; they had not bothered with completely unclothing him.

"Are you in pain?" George asked cautiously, "Shall I call the nurse?"

"No," Regal said finally looking towards the man. "I should be fine in a moment. It is…passing."

"I'm glad that you're awake. You gave me quite a fright!"

Regal was outwardly puzzled by George's reaction. Then again, he was in a hospital. "George, what exactly happened? Why am I here?"

"Well, I found you in your office. It was surprising enough to see that you were resting, but you wouldn't respond to any of my attempts to wake you. And I thought the worse. It seemed you were still alive, but unresponsive. The doctors say you were in some sort of coma and you were taken here. That was three days ago. Now you tell me, Regal, what happened?"

Regal was momentarily surprised by this development. He closed his eyes as he answered. "I suppose you were right. I must have just been so tired that I fell asleep for three days." It was the only logical explanation he could think of at this point and it made sense. He had no idea, however, that such a thing was possible.

"So you _will_ be taking some time for yourself then?" George said with the beginnings of a full-fledged smile.

"I would have to," Regal said looking away, "Since I am now such a liability. It would be foolish not to."

"I'm glad to hear that."

"I bet you are." He tried to hide his despondency from George, but he was sure he failed miserably.

"Don't fret, I'm sure you'll find _something_ to do with your time."

Regal begged to differ. Already he was coming up blank as to how he would fill his time. In fact, the future seemed rather bleak—he hated to admit it. Yet he couldn't be too upset with George; he was only looking out for his well-being.

It was then when the door to the room burst open to reveal Raine. Her sudden appearance took him by surprise and she looked quite flustered at that. She looked at them both with equal astonishment as if _they'd_ barged into her room and not the other way around.

George turned to the woman with a warm smile, "I see you got my urgent message."

"You made it sound like the man was on his deathbed!" Raine exclaimed, "And now I see he's alive and well without my assistance."

She made her way over to his bed never taking her eyes off of him as if by looking away he'd vanish altogether. Her appearance had changed somewhat, Regal noted. Her hair had lengthened a few inches past her shoulders though her ends still maintained their natural outward curve. Long strands of her white hair fell in front of her elven ears and laid comfortably upon the front of her shoulders, and side swept bangs framed her face. Her small, plump lips smiled gently at him and it drew one of equal measure from Regal.

"I would whack you on the head if you weren't already in a hospital," Raine said with a grin, a subtle devilish intent glinting from her eyes. "We didn't reunify the world just so you could go die somewhere in an office. Are you really alright, Regal?"

"Now you have me wondering just what George put into that letter, but either way I am truly sorry to cause you so much concern. I really am alright."

"It seems he might have exaggerated a little," Raine said sending a glare George's way who put his hands up in a truce. "But you don't have to apologize. I suppose I've been curious as to how you were doing. Genis and I have been traveling quite a bit as you know in hopes of changing public opinion about half-elves." She sighed heavily. "I've gotten to speak with the others, but you have been a difficult man to get in contact with. Just as busy as I would expect the President of the Lezarano Company to be. One day I learn you're in one place and by the time I get there, you've already moved on to someplace different. It has been quite a wild goose chase."

Regal chuckled at this. "I had no idea you were looking for me—sorry for causing you so much inconvenience. I have been quite busy for the past few months. Regretfully, I've forgotten to stay in touch. How have you been? I can't imagine it has been easy for you."

She looked away. "No, it has been anything but easy, but I did not come here to saddle you with my problems—

"Raine, it is no trouble at all, truly."

" _You're_ the one in the hospital," Raine reminded the other looking at him once again. "Perhaps it would be wise to save this conversation for later."

Regal studied the other's face to see if he could find some hidden clue there, but, for now, she was a closed book. It had been too long since he'd seen her. There were times when he could see right into her very soul, but only if she allowed him to. Her eyes were guarded now, desperately so. Whatever pain she had experienced on her travels were a complete mystery to him.

"Perhaps," Regal said back finally giving in.

"Here," Raine said as she raised her hand slowly and then placed the back of it against his forehead.

For a moment, he thought she was checking if he had a fever, but all in a split second the remnants of the intense headache from earlier completely dissipated. He could not hide the astonishment from his face. Her triumphant smile in response was well worth it, however.

"Thank you, Raine. But how did you know?"

"Call it a healer's intuition."

And for a moment, all they could do was look at each other for some reason simultaneously at a loss of words. This was when George cleared his throat—it brought them both back to reality.

"I think I'll take my leave," George said, "Regal should be in good hands for now. Do take better care of your health in the future."

"I will, George. I know I've been ignoring you as of late and I apologize for that. Thank you for your support."

"Of course, Regal," he said with a smile and then he turned and took his leave of the room. When the door closed, Raine pulled away from the bed and began to pace drawing a confused and then concerned look from Regal. She was deep in thought now and something told him that it was about him.

"Even if George was exaggerating in his letter, you did still sleep uninterrupted for three days, correct?" she asked as she stopped her pacing and looked at Regal.

"Yes, that is true," he replied wondering where she was going with this.

"Three days is a bit obsessive, don't you think?"

"Well—"

"Even if you were to pull perhaps three all-nighters," Raine continued without letting him finish, "thirty hours would be a more reasonable number if you were going to oversleep. Past that, I've never heard of three consecutive days in which no one could wake you."

"I was told I was in some sort of coma—that was how George put it."

"A coma doesn't make sense here, Regal. There was no trauma to the head, no drug use, no health issues. Just being tired shouldn't put one into a coma."

"Then what else could it have been?" Regal asked to the musing Raine.

"That is what intrigues me. I cannot settle on a good answer," she smiled then. "You are a rare case."

Regal wasn't sure he liked the look in her lapis hued eyes. There was a bright light of beautiful intelligence within them and it seemed to have only grown stronger if only for a moment. He wondered if he had ceased being another human being in her eyes and more like a subject to study.

"You should be far more concerned about this," Raine continued. "This is your health we are speaking of after all."

"Yes, I noticed," he replied drearily.

She approached his bed once again and placed her slender hands upon the handles on the side, an innocent look gracing her face. "Please, allow me to help you. I know what you'll say—that you don't want to trouble me with your issues, but it would be no trouble at all. I am a healer, after all. I am _compelled_ to do something when it is one of my friends who is in need."

Regal found himself becoming lost in her intense gaze—how could he possibly tell her no? "You sound quite serious about this. This could all turn out to be nothing at all, but I suppose if it would ease your worry then I will graciously accept your help."

"Good," Raine said with a smile. "I, of course, hope that it is as you say it is, but one can never be too careful. Besides, it is the perfect excuse to 'catch up' as they say."

Since he did have a lot of free time ahead of him, he welcomed any sort of distraction and this was the sort of distraction that he preferred. Anything that involved Raine was a good distraction, he realized, and catching up was something he would enjoy. Now that his mind was free to wonder about things other than the business, he wanted to know with increasing fervor what it is his friends had been up to. He was a bit ashamed, in fact, that he had not kept in touch.

After the doctor returned, giving Regal essentially a clean bill of health, Raine and Regal left the hospital together. They were in Altamira, but they did not immediately go to his manor—neither of them felt inclined to. Instead, they walked about the city for a bit.

Regal inquired about the whereabouts of Genis since he and Raine seemed practically attached at the hip. He was in Ozette with Presea, Raine had answered him. They'd been in the area after all and Genis had expressed great interest to see her again. She had not wanted to involve Genis when she got the letter from George and had rushed over to the hospital in earnest. If that was true, Regal thought to himself, then he wondered how George had known the whereabouts of Raine and Genis. It seemed George kept more tabs on his friends than even himself. Then again, George had been in Ozette recently to deal with a few issues with its development, perhaps he had noticed their presence there.

It was at this point that they came upon a tennis court. Catching Raine's attention, she walked up to the fence that separated the court from the rest of the park they had been walking through. Regal followed her as well.

"I read about this in a book," Raine said with growing excitement. "A game called tennis that requires a small, yellow ball and two racquets."

"It requires more than just that," Regal said after he was beside her once again. "Endurance, agility, and strength, to name a few."

"So you're familiar with the game?" Raine asked curiously looking up at him.

"Well," he said thoughtfully, "I played it a few times when I was younger, but I was never any good at it."

"Perfect," Raine said. "Let's go try it out for ourselves."

"You mean right now?" Regal asked caught off guard.

"Yes, unless you have something better to do," she asked crossing her arms

"Not really…"Regal replied unable to figure out anything to dissuade her.

"Then let's do it!" Raine said with uncharacteristic excitement.

She was practically dragging him along as she boldly took one of his hands and marched towards the facility next to the court and soon after talking to an enthusiastic woman behind the table, they had their racquets and quite a few yellow tennis balls to play with. Nevermind if neither quite had the right shoes on. Regal found himself on the court with a racquet in one hand and a ball in the other. He had agreed to serve the ball first so that Raine could see how it was done, but he was a poor example of proper form, Regal warned the other.

Regal botched the serve twice before getting a lucky shot in and launching the lightweight ball over the net. The ball just barely made it, but Raine had rightly assumed that this would happen and was there to thwack the ball quickly back over. Unable to reach the ball in time, Raine took the first point. Regal took out another ball to serve and then a similar scene played out. This happened twice more much to Regal's chagrin.

"Hey!" Regal heard Raine shout across the court with her arm with the racquet raised, "Get serious already! Try it again!"

Regal was hoping that since he'd already lost the first game that it would be Raine's turn to serve, but she seemed adamant about him "trying it again". With a sigh, he took up another ball, but he took a moment before beginning the serve. He would have to do _something_ different or else continue having the same results. He was throwing the ball up too high, he was swinging too late…concentrate, concentrate, concentrate… Finally he tossed the ball upward and something magical happened that time—it was as if the ball levitated in midair waiting for his racquet to strike forth. Perhaps it was the excitement of getting to give a solid serve, but he struck the ball with such fervor that the ball whizzed right past Raine and into the fence—had there been actual flames behind the ball it might have burnt a hole through it. Instead, the ball ricocheted with loud metallic protests from the fence and flew somewhere far away from the court. Wherever it landed was anyone's guess.

"My apologies!" Regal called over to the flabbergasted Raine.

"Well, at least we're getting somewhere! Try again!"

Silently, Regal took up yet another ball and served in the same manner as before, but instead of whacking the ball with far too much snap, he merely tapped it and the ball sailed over the net in a beautiful arch, struck the ground and bounced up again for Raine to safely strike it forth again. Finally they could get a volley started. Regal, not wanting to disturb the steady momentum struck the ball in the same manner each time, but it became clear that Raine wanted to try something different as she experimented with hitting the ball at different angles. Eventually, she was able to strike the ball in a way that completely changed the direction of where it was going and Regal could not reach the ball in time—yet another point for Raine.

By this time, Regal was quite comfortable with serving and did another one of almost equal skill the next time he had to. This time Raine didn't do anything different with her racquet, but an overzealous Regal struck the ball too hard once again. The ball was definitely going to go out of bounds, but Raine was so intent on keeping the ball in play that unthinkingly she reached up and tried to hit it only to have her racquet ripped cleanly from her hand, her grip standing no chance against the ball's fierce velocity. Her racquet fell to the ground in a loud clatter and the ball hindered by her racquet struck the fence but then bounced off landing harmlessly still on her side.

"Are you alright?" Regal called with far more concern than before. When he started to come over to her she raised her hand up to stop him.

"I'm fine, really!" she said in a raised voice. She walked over to pick up her racquet and returned to her position. "How about a bit more finesse next time, honestly!"

Regal took a deep breath and reminded himself that a tap would be enough to get the ball over the net with ease, no need to add anymore "oomph" to anything. He realized that this was the first time in a long time that he had used his arms in anything vaguely extraneous, he'd practically forgotten just how much strength lied there painfully unused. But he wasn't fighting, Regal told himself as his mind began to drift towards Alicia—this was just a recreational sport.

He served again screwing this up as his swing completely missed its mark, then he struck gold on the next attempt and soon they had a volley going. This one was a bit more interesting than before. Now that he knew that Raine might try something tricky, he positioned himself in the central area so that he was more ready for the ball. Both of them found themselves sprinting back in forth on the court, but Raine proved herself to be far more agile and adept. Regal began to wonder if this truly was her first time playing tennis—she made it look almost effortless.

By the time it was Raine's turn to serve, they had drawn a small crowd. It was completely unintentional, but they did play in earnest. Once there was some task or goal to strive for, it was in their nature to do so to the utmost of their ability recreational or not. Only they knew that it was all in fun because they gave off a different impression to the onlookers. Raine showed no signs of letting up and she was growing bolder in her trick shots and Regal was slowly learning how to counteract her misleading hits. He was simply glad that he managed to play even this well—he did not want to push his luck with experimentation. Not that this made the game boring.

On the second set, Raine had proven herself the better player. She could change the direction of her sprints on the dime while Regal had a slower reaction time. The crowd that had formed earlier to watch them had grown considerably—most were on Raine's side. Not that either one of them noticed. They were far too focused on the task at hand. All she had to do was win this set and she'd be the winner. Unlike the first set, Regal felt as if the second one flew by in minutes. His servings were excellent and he'd actually won a few games; not enough to make a difference, but it was something to feel proud of. Besides, watching the lithe Raine outmaneuver and outsmart him at every turn was quite a privilege to watch up close.

Not surprisingly, Raine wound up winning the match. Raine had managed to curve the ball completely opposite the direction it had gone before and though Regal had hustled to try and reach the ball in time, his racquet missed by a few millimeters and it went out of bounds. In that moment, they heard the cheers from the rather substantial crowd drawing them finally out of their little world. Raine made her way over to the astonished Regal whose eyes swept about the court noticing the onlookers. Then he looked to Raine who looked somewhat embarrassed. He smiled at her and then held out his hand. She looked at it for a moment before deciding that she'd shake it.

"You're quite the tennis player," Regal congratulated the other.

"You're not so bad yourself," she said with a wicked grin.

It was fodder for the onlookers who cheered even more. Looking at Raine, he noted her sweated hair hanging in separate tendrils over her forehead. She tried pushing it away, but it simply returned to its position almost instantly. It took him a moment to notice the moisture building up in her eyes as the cheering began to die down and the people began to disperse.

"Raine, what's wrong?" Regal asked confused at her reaction. Perhaps she was embarrassed.

She shook her head. "Just then…there were so many humans cheering for _me_ , the despicable half-elf. I know it was just because of a game, but…it was incredible."

Regal might have embraced the delicate, teary-eyed woman had it not been so inappropriate. He stopped himself before he could carry out his thoughts.

"Little by little the world will come around, Raine, I'm sure of it."

She smiled at him gently. "Come on, let's head back."

Walking was a welcoming departure from the constant sprinting, Regal noted. He certainly wasn't cut out for such things, his agility paled in comparison to Raine's. It was a humbling discovery. Both were too tired to bother with keeping up a steady conversation so they walked in blissful silence to Regal's estate. Sure Raine might have already had a room in one of the hotels, but it would be rude of him not to invite her in.

There were at least three showers in the modest manor so after showing Raine where one of them were, they parted ways to clean themselves up. It had been a long time since he had had a guest over and his food supply was distressingly low, but he knew he could whip up something quickly for both of them as he took out the last of the rice. He'd grown too used to being alone and only cooking for himself. It saddened him a bit, but his mood soon brightened as he began cooking in earnest.

"Smells good," Raine said noticeably startling the other which drew a good-natured laugh from her.

He knew that she was in the house, but his mind had not actually gotten used to the fact. When he turned to look at her, he found that she had taken it upon herself to borrow one of his t-shirts.

"I hope you don't mind," Raine said noticing where he was looking, "It was either this or throw back on my sweaty clothes."

"No, you're fine," he said turning back to the pan before she could see his blush—at least he thought he had done so in time.

The white shirt looked more like a dress on the petite woman and something about her wearing such a thing…

"I'll be finished in a few," Regal began, but he stopped as he felt her presence closer to him.

He hadn't heard her light footsteps above the sizzling pan as she made her way to a spot beside him so that she could have a good view of the pan. She leaned back against the counter next to the stove he was cooking on, her arms were crossed.

"You're quite magnificent when it comes to cooking at least."

Cooking was second nature to Regal and especially something as simple as fried rice. In fact, he could have prepared it in his sleep. He wasn't bothered at all by Raine observing him. In fact, he was encouraged to show off a little more much to Raine's amusement. There was no need to toss the food into the air by this time as the mixture of vegetables and chopped chicken was practically done, but he did so anyway. He heated up another pan for frying the rice. He'd already boiled some rice earlier and had placed it into the freezer so that it could quickly cool. Cold rice made for flakier, lighter fried rice since it wasn't already steeped in moisture and warmth, he answered to the inevitable questioning from Raine. Regal found himself explaining everything even up to the point of finishing the meal and placing it on two plates—but he was more than happy to do it. He wondered if such information would make a difference, however. He could have sworn they'd had similar conversations before during the journey of reunification, but for some reason (probably due to her need to experiment on even the most basic of recipes) she would wound up creating twisted renditions of everything she laid hands on. Regal found it to be amusing, not so amusing when he was forced to eat it…

Though the plates were hot, Regal had no trouble bringing the steamy plates out to the modest dining room table. They sat across from each other. Regal wanted to know what she thought of the food almost immediately after her first taste.

"It's wonderful, of course," she answered. "Maybe you'll let me cook for you one day to show my appreciation."

"Only if you promise not to kill me in the process," he said with a half-smile.

"Well…I'll try," she responded mischievously.

For the next few minutes, they simply enjoyed the savory taste of the simple, yet flavorful fried rice. Raine was clearly enjoying it. He knew her to be a woman who did not mince her words if she disliked something. Getting a compliment from her was all he needed to boost his own confidence.

"Today is tennis. What's tomorrow? Volleyball, swimming?" Regal asked the other.

Raine stopped her chopsticks midway to her mouth and then placed it back on the plate. She smiled innocently. "Whatever do you mean?"

"Oh, don't be coy, Raine. I am quite exhausted from today's activities."

"What gave it away?" Raine asked dropping her obviously false innocence.

"Your sudden interest in tennis."

"That soon?"

"Well, I don't claim to know you like the back of my hand, but I do recall your fondness of books and ruins—recreational sports seems like a departure from all of that."

"There's no reason to beat around the bush. Yes, it's true. George told me you had trouble with sleeping so I decided to help you out a little."

"Is that all?" he asked keeping his voice neutral.

"You fell asleep for three days. I-no, we need to make sure that doesn't happen again, that it isn't an indication of something else. Better to be thorough than sorry." Then she looked away. "And let me know if you're getting annoyed. You won't hurt my feelings if you do."

Regal begged to differ. When Raine found something that piqued her interest, she became focused on it and there was no obstacle that would keep her from finding everything there was to know about it. Emil Castagnier came to the forefront of his mind. She studied him like a bacteria in a petri dish with cold objectivity and in many ways without regard to his feelings. On the other hand, it was this focus that ended up helping Emil the most. Even if he had been annoyed, he would not have told her at this point. Besides, he had begun to think that his rationalization had fallen apart the moment Raine had dismissed it in the first place. And there was that dream, a dream that felt too real to actually be called one. He hadn't told her about it; he wondered if he should now. He knew instinctively that somehow he had been privy to the memories of the man they knew as Kratos Aurion especially when he had seen a much younger Lloyd. But he hesitated. Suspecting that Raine might have some history with him, a history more private than simply traveling with him, he wondered if she was the right person to be confiding in.

"I'm not annoyed at all. In fact, I am grateful for your assistance. There is something I need to tell you, however."

Regal had her complete attention. Anything he told her she would soak up immediately. He wished he could have the same sort of attention from his investors. So he started from the very beginning sparing her no details. Not once did she give any indication that she was uncomfortable or that it was too much, she simply listened without saying a word.

The dream hadn't been a tragic one. It was one of bliss, the sort that Regal was wholly unfamiliar with. Even the happiest moment of his life, the moment when he had fallen in love with Alicia could not compare. His affection for Anna was somehow deeper, more soulful, but then his love had not simply ended with Anna, they had already been together for a while. There was also a child, a child which they had both created. That kind of love was incomprehensible to Regal who had not experienced anything similar save for that moment when he was forced to. He was more than just an onlooker, he explained. He felt as if he was actually there. Whatever emotions he felt or scenes that he experienced was inescapable. He could not simply close his eyes or "wake up". Frankly, it was all a bit eerie. He learned more about Kratos than he had ever been interested in knowing about.

When he finished, he thought he saw what looked like pity in Raine's eyes.

"I had no idea…" Raine said. "We have to get to the bottom of this. The way you described it, there must be some outside force at work. I just don't know what that is yet."

Somehow Regal knew that she would. The last of their food had gotten cold, but neither felt like finishing it. He offered to take her dish, but she insisted in helping him clean up. This took all of five minutes to do.

"Allow me to show you to your room," Regal said.

She followed him up the stairs starting in the living room and he showed her as well where the bathrooms were, the guest rooms, and his room. She thanked him and they said their goodnights. He, of course, kept the door to his room open just in case the incident from before reoccurred. It would be foolish to have his door closed and locked.

He had no difficulties with falling asleep. Within minutes of his head touching the pillow, he was asleep, but then an alarm went off startling him awake. He looked over wearily at his alarm clock as it continued to wail. With a sigh, he finally reached over and took it into his hands. He couldn't simply hit the snooze button, he had to actively turn it off. It was entirely possible that he had forgotten to turn off the alarm. He hadn't been back in the house for a few days and he did set his clock fairly early sometimes even before he went off to work. After he was done, he lied down again. The minutes seemed to slip by without him even noticing. It seemed like only a moment past and the alarm was going off again startling him. When he looked back over at the troublesome clock he noticed that twenty minutes had passed. The scene was so similar that he wondered if he had simply dreamed turning off the alarm clock before. His mind couldn't understand it otherwise—why would the alarm go off again? He found himself turning it off and then flipping it on again just so he could turn it off again. He was certain that this time, it was off.

Yet it felt like only a few moments later when the alarm was wailing once again. He was far more disoriented this time. Though he turned to the clock, it took him a few moments to process just what time it was and how much time had passed since last time—an entire hour.

"Did I not…?" he murmured to himself.

No, he knew for a fact that he had turned off the alarm. He sat up in bed as something began to don on him. He was no longer the only person in this house. Was it a coincidence that the moment there was another person his alarm clock starting behaving oddly? It may well be a coincidence, but he doubted it.

"Raine?" he called out.

He barely heard her as she entered the room. She could be quite sleuth-y, he noted. He wondered how she had managed to set his clock three times in a row without him noticing, but that was beside the point.

"So you're awake."

"So I am," he said back. He waited patiently for her explanation.

"Three days without anyone being able to wake you sounded strange to me. If we're assuming that this will happen again, it should be impossible for me to wake you and especially three times in a row. There are different stages of sleep and you can be awoken in the first few stages as I expected. By the time George found you, you must have been further down the line. The stage in which one starts dreaming—I suspect it is there that you become unreachable. Normally a person does not simply stay in this stage, one transitions between the second and third stage and the last one throughout the night. If I'm right, you remain in stage four and never transition."

"How can you tell?" He could barely make her out in the darkness, but her white hair made her just visible.

"Certain bodily cues: heart rate, body temperature. It isn't exact, but it's enough for now. If I had some device that measured brain waves…but I think that would be overkill. You didn't ask, but I know you've been wondering why I did not inform you of what I was planning to do."

"I think I already know."

"Yes, not many people feel comfortable sleeping when others are watching them."

"And should I expect more of the same?" Regal asked.

"Well, if I'm right, that was the last time. I'll set the alarm for a longer time period and even when it goes off—you won't respond at all. Better that I don't tell you what time."

He had to listen carefully as Raine softly tread over to the side of his bed and lifted up the alarm. The light from the glowing numbers illuminated her face just a little. Her expression was again hard to read. She placed the clock gently onto the table.

"Don't worry, Regal, we'll get to the bottom of this."

"I have little doubt when it's you."

She disappeared out of his sight once again as the darkness took her. He thought he saw as she exited the room but he couldn't be sure. He waited for a moment, but he eventually lied back down again. It was a little more difficult to fall asleep knowing someone was watching, but it helped that he trusted her unconditionally. The room was completely dark and it was utterly silent—it was enough to eventually lull him back to sleep.


	4. Oh, Sweet Pain

Chapter 4: Oh, Sweet Pain

The first brunette woman had long, voluminous hair and her umber eyes sparkled in the bright lamplight, her smile even brighter still; she was the leader of the other three violinists, her name was Isabel. The other women?—he'd already forgotten their names. One wore her hair in a high ponytail with hair that ran down to her tailbone, another one had a bang that stopped abruptly at her eyebrows and coarse, curly hair that was equally as long as the other woman with the ponytail, and finally the last one had short brunette hair with side swept bangs—the look did not suit her long, oval face.

"All you have to do is clap your hands twice and the lamp turns off," Isabel said with one of her bright smiles. "It's activated by sound, pretty cutting edge technology and Mithos had one placed in every bedroom."

"Ah, I see," Kratos said back. He knew he was ignoring the other three as he looked at her almost exclusively; she was quite a sight for sore eyes. He wondered why he hadn't noticed her before.

There was a slight blush on her face. "We've been working on a new song and we're quite excited to play for you."

"Then let's hear it," he said encouragingly.

The blush had not left her face as she looked to the other three with a nod. Isabel started out first slow and sensual and gradually one by one the other violins added more and more depth to the ballad. Isabel seemed completely in her element as she moved the bow up and down the strings lovingly and with a passion he found himself quite drawn to. Eventually, instead of simply admiring her beauty he closed his eyes so that he could listen more closely to the melody. The music was like nothing he had heard before, the complexity almost breathtaking. It was almost a pity that there was an ending which came far too soon in Kratos' opinion.

"Did you like it, my lord," Isabel asked with a hint of bashfulness that Kratos found endearing.

"Yes, it was beautiful," he answered back without hesitation.

"Thank you, my lord," she said with a broad smile.

The four of them bowed to him deeply before turning to take their leave. Isabel was the first one in and the last one out. He watched her longingly wondering if he should say something more, but something stopped him. Something always stopped him. Isabel glanced behind herself, but quickly looked away when she saw Kratos' gaze. She closed the door behind her.

To be completely honest, Isabel was the only reason why he hadn't simply dismissed the quartet. Violins weren't exactly a necessity in his life and it didn't exactly put him to sleep, but it was at the very least calming. Kratos looked towards the lamp and then clapped his hands twice to see if this really did the trick. All in an instant, the light disappeared.

It was the darkness that truly lulled him into sleep. The darkness was deep and all-encompassing and he kept thinking of the last fleeting glance that Isabel had given him nevermind if he probably had better things to be concentrating on. For instance, the Cruxis Crystals…

/

Kratos surprised himself with his calm acceptance of being back in the prison once again. This time, however, he was outside. Though it was another bright, sunny day, the colors around him seemed distressingly dull. An inexplicable depression weighed heavily on him once again, a depression he decided was far too passionate. He was falling through an abyss that left him feeling bereft of both energy and care.

He stood in a field filled with other inmates engaged in activities from conversing to pumping weights. He struggled to find interest in his environment, but it would not come. Looking to the ground, his attention became pinpointed on a lone clump of grass upon a field of dried earth and sparse growth. Finally, he sat down cross-legged waiting. He wasn't sure what he was waiting for, maybe for it all to end. Kratos found such thoughts to be disturbing, but he could not shake them. He simply wanted it all to end. Everything. He was so consumed by these thoughts that he did not hear the approach of a group of men. It was only when their presence blocked the sunlight that he looked up. He was sure his eyes held no expression at all as he stared at five rather burly looking men who were in desperate need of a shave and a shower.

Their sneering faces never sent him on edge. When one demanded that he stand up, the words fell on deaf ears. Kratos simply continued to stare half-heartedly. After more choice words from the annoyed men, the tallest one dragged him to his feet roughly with one arm by the nape of his gray, cotton shirt.

He couldn't figure out why he didn't want to fight back. There was no energy to be had. He did not feel angry, he did not feel anything as the first punch crashed into his face and he felt the sweet pain. Why did the pain feel so good? Why did he desperately want them to continue? There was another punch of equal strength and for the first time he felt something—it was a bit like joy, but perverted somehow. He found himself grinning as a string of blood flowed from the side of his mouth. They started calling him names, "freak" being the least of them. The man punched him again and then again before tossing him away in disgust. Kratos was actually _afraid_ that they had lost interest him.

"Is that all you have!" Kratos heard himself yelling over and over again. He simply could not stop himself. He wanted more of it. "All that talk and this is all you can do? Weaklings, the lot of you!"

He finally struck a nerve and they all came at him at once punching him continuously in the face until he fell onto the ground. Kratos was laughing now hysterically. They started kicking him in the guts, stomping on his side. He only laughed louder and with more force. He felt his face being caved in, his legs being turned to jelly. But they all stopped abruptly when a voice yelled out to them threateningly. The sunlight had returned and stung his eyes as he rolled over on his back with a grimace.

All he did for what felt like an hour was stare up at the cloudless sky suffering silently in the reverberating pain. The pain at first sweet felt anything but as his eyes began to well up with moisture. He turned his head to cough up blood. When he looked up again, he saw Esgal's deeply concerned face.

"You can't let them keep doing that to you, brother," Esgal stated matter-of-factly. "Are you really just going to lie there like that?"

Kratos looked away from that concerned face. It hurt him too much to see it. "I don't care…"

"That's the thing—you _have_ to care. This is your life we're talking about! You really just want to waste it like this?"

"I said I don't care," Kratos answered with more force.

"That's too bad. I care. C'mon, let's get you fixed up."

Kratos looked over at Esgal's outstretched hand. With an exasperated sigh, he took it and was lifted up quite easily.

"Ah!" Kratos cried out as he felt a startling pain in his gut. He crumbled down to his knees.

"Are you alright?" Esgal asked.

"Damn it, Esgal, I said I don't care!" he growled. Tears sprang to his eyes unintentionally from the sudden onslaught of stabbing pain.

"Would a man who could still cry really not care? I won't let you die, I promise you that."

Kratos' head was bowed and Esgal had squatted down to his level. Suddenly he felt a warmth on his stomach area and the pain slowly dissipated. The warmth began to spread all throughout his body and the pain disappeared much to his relief. He was glad to feel relief from the pain being taken away. For a moment, he thought he had turned into some kind of masochist.

"Thank you…Thank you very much," he said hoarsely.

"I know, now let's do something productive."

Esgal had his hand held out again and Kratos took it now with little hesitation.

"I want you to start fighting back," Esgal said, "They'll just keep coming back because they know you won't defend yourself."

His depression had begun to subside if only a little as Esgal spoke to him incessantly. Kratos noted that he didn't smell nearly as bad as he had before, but he didn't exactly look well. Then he remembered before when he had been vomiting up food. He wondered if that always happened. If he couldn't keep down his food, then how much energy could he possibly have? Yet he had healed him completely—not an easy feat. Kratos looked at the other with growing respect as Esgal pushed back more of his stringy, sweaty hair from his face. They were walking towards the blacktop where many of the inmates resided.

"Why are you helping me?" Kratos finally asked the other.

Esgal looked at him with a smile, one that looked quite sinister on his face, but Kratos sensed no ill-will from him. "Because that's what I do, besides, I like you, Regal, I like you a lot."

Up until that moment, Kratos had forgotten that he was not walking in his own shoes. The man before him wasn't seeing Kratos, but Regal. It was too confusing to think about especially since he himself could only see himself.

He continued to follow Esgal until they eventually wound up at a bench press. Kratos looked at the other questioningly.

"I want to teach you how to fight back," Esgal explained, "Better to build up some arm muscles."

"I already know how," Kratos said back as he took a seat on the bench.

"But you have no will to fight," Esgal said thoughtfully, "I see now." Esgal sat down beside him. "You asked me yesterday about these shackles," he said with a sigh. "They're only given to half-elves on account of our ability to cast magic."

"That doesn't make sense."

"Well, obviously, it doesn't work for me, but I don't make any trouble for them so they turn a blind eye. For the vast majority, they're so heavy that they can't lift their arms to even cast a decent spell—a simple, yet effective solution."

"So it's impossible for me to attain them?"

"Why would you want to further incapacitate yourself?"

Kratos did not even bother answering the question. He did not have an answer himself. By this time he was merely reciting the thoughts that would come to his mind and beg to be spoken aloud.

"If you were to cause trouble," Esgal began slowly with obvious weariness in his tone, "Knock out a few inmates, they might see fit to punish you in the same way as I."

Kratos found himself looking down at his hands, a sentiment which he did not fully understand. Kratos couldn't remember the last time he'd felt the need to use his own fists. He was so used to the feel of a sword's hilt, it was like second nature, an extension of his own hand.

"You're trying to punish yourself again, aren't you?" Esgal asked slightly peeved. "You've certainly had a death wish since you've gotten here. I won't let you die, do you hear me?"

"So you've said countless times before."

"I'm being serious. I won't!" Esgal said with a force that gave Kratos pause.

"What's in it for you if I don't die?" Kratos asked.

"Well," Esgal said looking away. It was the first sign of hesitancy he had seen in the man or was it something else… "I wish the world…was filled with more people like you. Here we are, a human and a half-elf talking as if it were an everyday occurrence. You're kind, honest—

"Stop," Kratos said as he stood up abruptly. "You only say those things because you haven't the slightest clue as to why I'm in here."

Kratos nearly jumped out of his skin when he felt a large hand touch his shoulder from behind. The chains on Esgal's shackles clinked lightly. "Whatever it is, I'm sure it wasn't your fault."

He pulled away from Esgal. "How can you say things like that—you haven't the slightest clue what I did."

"I've always been a good reader of people. Sometimes it's a curse. You don't belong here. The only thing that keeps you here is your guilt. You're a duke after all. I bet all you have to do is say the word and you'd be out of here just like that. You've chosen to punish yourself. A cruel, heartless man would never be able to do such a thing."

"You've clearly misread me. You would say all this to a murderer?"

"I would," he answered unfazed.

Just then he heard as whistles were blown from uniformed men. They blew with what Kratos thought far too much fervor. It left his ears ringing.

"I guess it's time for us to return to our cells," Esgal said. "It really is a nice day—a shame."

As rowdy as the other men seemed, they eventually formed a single file and trudged in an orderly manner back inside. It was the first time Kratos had walked to his cell, but he seemed to instinctively know where to go much to his relief.

There was practically nothing left to do once in their minuscule cells. If he was going to do absolutely nothing, he would have rather done so outside. Esgal was already sitting on the top bunk reading a book that looked to have almost lost a fight with the shredder. The small paperback was so crinkled that the title was illegible. He looked down when two trays of food was roughly slid under the door through an opening. Esgal hadn't been lying before, the food looked exactly like slop. Why was it gray? And why did it not have a pleasant smell?

"They always save the worst for the half-elves. It's too bad you share a cell with me," Esgal said glancing over his book towards him.

"This is quite disgusting," Kratos commented as he squatted down to get a closer look. Perhaps he'd be able to discern just what it was.

"Hey," Esgal said setting his book aside, "Maybe you could use your connections and get us—you some _real_ food."

Kratos looked at the other wearily, "I don't have any connections. At least not in a prison."

"Hm? Really? But I bet those guards might listen to you if you said something to them. They might treat you with some respect."

"I doubt it."

Esgal grinned and then shook his head. "You have a pleasant face, you're human, and you also just happen to be a duke—why don't you use that to your advantage for a change, huh? Ask one of those guards to get you some real food." He pushed his lengthy, wiry hair back once again.

"I can't just—

"Oh, just do it already. It's not going to hurt anything."

Kratos sighed inwardly at the insistent half-elf, but he _had_ saved him earlier with his healing arts. It was the least he could do, he supposed. Perhaps he wouldn't have to watch yet another vomiting session the next day. Kratos banged on the door to the cell and very quickly a guard came by; he could very clearly see the uniformed man through the barred window.

"Yes, sir, do you require something?" the uniformed man asked.

"I'd like to eat some real food, not this…" Kratos struggled to find a word to describe the prison food without sounding too harsh, "Slop."

"Oh," the uniformed man said alarmed, "Is it not to your liking?" He stepped a little closer to the bars and spoke in lower tones. "Duke Bryant, sir, I'm not allowed to treat you any differently from anyone else, but…you can have my lunch if you like."

"Your lunch, but…" Kratos couldn't believe he was actually objecting to such a thing, but he did so, much to his silent annoyance.

"Oh, no, no, no, it's alright with me, sir, but perhaps it won't be up to your standards…" the man said nervously, "I mean…I guess I could find you something else?"

"I don't want to get you in trouble. That would be fine."

"Excellent, sir, excellent," the guard said a little too loudly and then he covered his mouth. "This is between you and me, right?"

Kratos could only nod.

"And you'll remember me when you get out, right?"

"Of course," Kratos said automatically.

The guard had a ridiculous grin on his face as he left to go obtain his lunch.

"See what I mean? It helps to be someone important," Esgal said with a smile.

"I do see what you mean now, but…I don't want to abuse my authority."

"Demanding edible food to eat is far from abusing your authority," Esgal said with a shrug.

It didn't take long for a lunch bag to be slid under the door as well. Instinctively, Kratos took the bag and set it on Esgal's bunk.

"Are you sure?" Esgal asked.

"You haven't eaten anything for two days—take all of it," Kratos said. He hadn't realized this until he found himself saying it. He could tell immediately that the other one was quite grateful.

He took the two trays of food and brought it over to his bed as he sat down. What smell that could be discerned from the questionable food was nonexistent by this time and there were no utensils—he would have to eat with his bare hands that were not in any way clean. Maybe he should have asked the man for something to eat with, he thought grudgingly. He wondered if he was to be forced to eat something in a dream. He prayed that he woke before then…

/

"Lord Kratos…?" a woman's voice said quietly as if she was afraid of being too loud.

Kratos awoke to a hazy image of Isabel gazing down at him with a look of concern. It was odd to see her without her trademark violin.

"How long has it been?" he asked, his voice rougher than usual probably from not using it in a while.

"Four days, my lord."

Her image slowly became clearer—it was quite a contrast from the dinginess of his dream. Her skin was like marble, her eyes were dark and depthless, and her voluminous hair caressed her face as she looked down upon him. He wondered why she was there. How long had she been watching him?

She clasped her hands in front of her heart. "We were all so worried about you, my lord."

"Who is 'we'?" Kratos asked as he sat up.

"General Jasper, Raphael, all the members of the staff who work here—me and my sisters."

That was pretty much everyone, Kratos thought. He didn't know what to say. He had no idea what was happening to him and he had no idea how to deal with it. He could not understand how he had been out for more than three days. If things continued as they were maybe he'd see a healer about it. He had a feeling that this was not a passing thing. He climbed out of bed then and Isabel stepped back keeping a respectable distance between them.

"Do you know where Jasper and Raphael are now?"

She shook her head. "No, I'm sorry, my lord.

Just then, the door to his room crashed open and in stepped two armed angels. Kratos instinctively pulled Isabel behind him. He was completely unarmed at the moment, but he knew that he had his sword hidden under the bed. They were at a standstill at the moment. Perhaps they hadn't thought he'd be awake. Their swords were already drawn.

"What do you expect to do with those swords?" Kratos asked the two short cropped, white haired angels.

"We were sent here to kill you," one of them droned.

"And you're doing an excellent job of that so far," Kratos said back, "Who sent you?"

"We are not at liberty to say. We have you cornered now. If you don't make any trouble for us, we will make your death painless and—

"Vice versa," Kratos finished tiring of their speech.

He'd been in such situations before, but never without his Cruxis Crystal. Perhaps it wasn't the best idea to have removed his crystal so soon, but he felt he'd be dishonoring his vow if he had not done so as quickly as possible. Without further hesitation, Kratos ducked down to grab his sword and whipped it cleanly out of its scabbard and brought it up defensively. His opponents were far stronger than him and he had not forgotten Isabel who stood behind him silently. He didn't have time to assess her stress levels at this point.

Grabbing Isabel's hand he rushed forth first and just barely parried their attacks and managed to make his way through them. He'd knew they'd make chase so he turned to them when he was a ways ahead of them.

"Eruption!" he yelled out and the ground beneath the two angels erupted momentarily in flames.

Kratos heard a gasp from Isabel, but he still continued forth. He stopped in his tracks when he saw several men ahead. He turned on his heels and went in the opposite direction running past his room and the still reeling angels.

"It's a dead end ahead," Isabel cried out breathlessly.

Kratos stopped again and then turned to her. "Then what is the best route out of here?"

She pointed towards where the men had come from.

"I was afraid you'd say that. Do you know how to fight?"

She shook her head "no". "I'm sorry."

"You have nothing to apologize for. Stay behind me. I will try something that will stop them all in their tracks."

Isabel's eyes grew big, but she obediently took her position behind him. He held his arm out in front of him, his palm parallel with his body. A bright light began to surround Kratos as his body prepared for one of the biggest attacks he knew. His power was greatly diminished since he was no longer an angel, but he would give this a try.

"Judgement!" he cried out vehemently.

A devastating light show rained down on the pursuing angels and they all fell down under its power. Kratos stumbled forth as well, his body unprepared for such a rapid release of energy. He fell to his knees in sudden weakness. His arms held him up, one hand still holding the sword; he'd forgotten to bring the scabbard.

"That was incredible," Isabel said quietly.

She stood in front of him now and Kratos looked up when she turned to him once again with eyes full of awe, but they quickly turned to worry.

"Lord Kratos, your nose, it's bleeding!" she said urgently.

His eyebrows crinkled a little as he lifted a hand to wipe underneath his nose and sure enough there was his blood, red and smeared.

"I suppose I shouldn't do that one too often," he said with a weary laugh, climbing to his feet once again. "But at the very least we got rid of—"

He paused as his eyes made out even more armed angels coming out of the same exit they were trying to get to.

"What are we going to do, my lord?" Isabel said seeing the exact thing as he.

"I'll have to fight them. If I can just distract them enough, you could make it through—

"No, I won't leave you," she said defiantly.

"You'd only be holding me back if you stayed," Kratos said gruffly.

Isabel frowned, "Alright."

"There are a lot of them though," Kratos said to himself.

His gripped tightened a little more on the hilt. He could feel his own fear mounting—he was only human after all. He brandished his sword confidently. The skills he had with the weapon would remain, angel or not. Instead of waiting for them to come all the way to him, he ran forth of his own accord and started in the center and worked his way forward.

The steady clinks of metal against metal along with shouts of pain was all one could hear at the moment. Kratos had no idea who had organized such a large group of angels and sent them after him, but they were all very intent on seeing his end. He had to take more care guarding his vital areas, areas that would probably kill him instantly; he did not have his shield. He had no idea where Isabel was, his sight was completely obscured by the angels. He hoped she'd made her escape by now.

Eventually, one sword shot through his shoulder blade and he stumbled back in pain. Then they pounced on him. It only took one mistake, he knew. He was on the defensive again, parrying and dodging like a wild animal. Blood flowed freely from the wound, but it didn't seem fatal.

"Leave him alone!" Kratos heard a familiar rough voice yell out angrily.

He couldn't see Jasper, but he must have come with his own men as he heard more feet moving towards his position. He began to back up as the angels' attentions before him was momentarily turned from him. Kratos looked behind himself and found Isabel right where he had left her. To be fair, he must not have distracted them nearly enough for her to make a run for it. They were distracted now as he moved towards her and took her hand once again to guide her.

"This is a dead end, remember?" Isabel said quietly but frantically as they moved onward.

Not only that, Kratos thought to himself, but there were more armed angels waiting for them. Was there another exit that he could take? She'd said it was a dead end, but…He saw a door to his right that led to a spiraling stairway. This would have to do for now. Kratos kicked the door open and flew down the stairs passing three doors before deciding to go into one of the main dens on the passageway. He yanked the door opened, pulling Isabel along as if she was a ragdoll and closing the door gently behind him. He was sure the angels from the previous hall had seen him come into the stairway, but they had not seen which room he had gone into along the stairway—he hoped this would be his saving grace. There was a long couch further into the room and he decided they'd wait behind there for the time being.

He was breathing hard now through his mouth; they'd be able to hear him, he realized for an agonizing second. He glanced over at Isabel who didn't seem the least bit fatigued. Perhaps half-elves also had a natural stamina advantage. He covered his mouth with his hand and forced himself to breathe exclusively from his nose. It felt as if his lungs would burst from the effort. Time began to slow and his vision began to blur as he waited for them to pass the door. How far away were they? He felt a gentle hand grasp the arm covering his mouth.

"They're gone," she whispered.

He didn't bother with speaking as he heaved through his mouth, desperately soaking in the sweet air. He couldn't remember the last time he had been so out of breath. When his breathing returned to tolerable levels, he peered over the couch cautiously.

"Wait…let me heal you," she said quietly as he climbed to his feet.

Kratos finally looked at her. "Save your energy, we're not out of the woods yet. Let's move before they come back."

She simply nodded and followed him as he lightly moved to the door. The door was silent as Kratos carefully opened it. Then he opened it until it was wide enough for them to fit through and he closed the door with equal caution. He began back up the stairs at a fairly quick pace, while making sure not to make a sound. They made it to the final door upstairs and he pushed it forth slowly. He quickly looked both ways, but the hallway was oddly silent. All the ruckus seemed to have vanished with a snap. Had Jasper's forces done away with what Kratos assumed were rebels so efficiently? He glanced behind himself to make sure Isabel was still there. Her expression remained neutral.

He began towards the other end of the hallway where the exit resided.

"Here," Isabel said quietly when they were about to pass yet another door.

She went to the gigantic door and opened it in the same cautious manner as Kratos, but her body was far too exposed. Before Kratos could protest, Isabel gasped and then slumped forward. He barely had time to notice an arrow peeking through her clothes from behind before he was taking cover behind the door. Isabel had fallen to the ground and she was motionless now.

"Shit," Kratos said under his breath. It would be nice to know what in the world was happening right now. Was the entire castle under siege? How much had he missed whilst he was asleep?

He took a quick glance around the door he still held the knob to. There were shouts in the distance. The fight from the hall must have moved here. The door itself was quite large and very noticeable while being opened. He bent down and carefully took Isabel into his arms and then so that he could free one of his arms, he placed her over one of his shoulders. She was about as tall as he, taking her along was not going to be a walk in the park, but he could not bring himself to leaving her in the doorway. The blood from her wound began to pour onto his clothes, but he ignored it.

He trudged forth trying to assess the situation. He hadn't moved more than a couple of paces before a roar of excitement erupted from the remaining men ahead. Someone must have won. He hoped it was in his favor. He continued to walk towards the cheering men. By the time he reached them, the excitement had died down. He found himself stepping over countless bodies. He hadn't expected there to be so much death…

"Kratos!" Jasper said loudly drawing his attention immediately.

He'd been gazing down at the carnage, but watched as Jasper made his way towards him passing his own men in the process.

"I didn't expect to see you. I'd gotten word that they'd planned to take you out while pinning my forces elsewhere in the castle. Seems everything worked out in our favor. Quite a lot has happened since…well, while you were unconscious."

"I can see that."

Jasper's eyes flicked to the woman he carried with him.

"Could you see to this woman's wellbeing?" Kratos asked when he noticed his glance.

Jasper came forth and then took her into his arms. "The casualties of war…I forget her name, but she was adamant about staying with you just in case you awoke. She thought you might need some assistance."

"She was quite helpful," Kratos said after a moment. "I can still easily get lost in this maze of a castle."

Jasper looked at him a moment longer. "I'm glad you're still alive. There's still a lot you have left to do. At least you chose a good time to wake up. Perhaps in the future, I'll leave guards at your door."

Kratos wondered how much of a difference it would make if their enemies wore Cruxis Crystals and they all would be much stronger than them. The guards would simply be fodder.

Jasper called one of his men over and handed Isabel over to the man. "Have the healers see her immediately." He was looking at Kratos intently now. "We have a lot to discuss."


End file.
